


Grey Skies

by Sylverfinger



Category: Original Work
Genre: 2nd Person, High School, Summer break, Sylverfinger's writing practice, Unrequited Love, kinda old work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylverfinger/pseuds/Sylverfinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It's warm and bright outside. The sun shines unobstructed by white clouds in an azure-blue sky, and the green grass rustles softly in the whisper-breeze.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You're not outside. You sit on your bed facing the window, laptop on the rumpled covers beside you. It's the first week of summer and you're not out with friends laughing or on your phone talking. It's not because they don't want to - your friends asked you to hang out with them a few days ago but you declined - it's because you just… aren't in the mood, you said. They had given you knowing glances.</em>
</p><p> A little thing I did almost half a year ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey Skies

It's warm and bright outside. The sun shines unobstructed by white clouds in an azure-blue sky, and the green grass rustles softly in the whisper-breeze.

You're not outside. You sit on your bed facing the window, laptop on the rumpled covers beside you. It's the first week of summer and you're not out with friends laughing or on your phone talking. It's not because they don't want to - your friends asked you to hang out with them a few days ago but you declined - it's because you just… aren't in the mood, you said. They had given you knowing glances.

It's not like you're antisocial, or don't like to hang around with them. You've been friends since elementary.

Over and over in your head you've been going over one image - of an open grey muscle shirt and ripped jeans, hand running through artfully tousled brown hair and a goofish smile. On the last day of school you ventured out an "I'll miss you" and he had turned to you and he said "Yeah, I'll miss this school too," and smiled. You could almost fly the whole day after.

The weather is as perfect as it could be and you can see your little sister now in the driveway, playing with a mini basketball with one of the kids down the block. The neighbours are all either away camping or sitting in lawn chairs outside enjoying the sun. Up in your room it's cool and shady. Clothes are scattered all over the floor and your desk's overflowing with dusty things never moved from over a year ago. The blinds are half-shut over the window. Your bed's unmade since you got up this morning.

Your phone lies silent on the nightstand. Your laptop's screen displays his Facebook profile, ball cap jammed sideways on top of curly hair. His page is littered with well-wishes from friends and wistful goodbyes from a dozen different tank-top girls. Among them is a farewell post from you with one like, and lower down still another by him about his new school come September.

A movement catches your eye. The Facebook page refreshes - and as you turn your head to look, a new post pops up.

Suddenly your gut wrenches.

It's a selfie of his face and a girl's. She's blonde and wears a low neckline and she is utterly gorgeous. His face beside hers is turned to peck a kiss on her cheek.

 _Hanging out with gf <3 <3_ is the caption.

The screen seems to fly away from you. You can't move. You can't think. Nothing else exists in the world. The only thing you can see is the girl's cheek and where his lips touch. Everything is ringing dully - or is that just your ears?

Almost immediately one of his guy friends comments.

_your gfs rly hot_

Another friend chimes in.

_wheres she from???_

A few seconds later, one of his tank-top followers comments too.

_what's her name_  
_she looks like one of those swimmers from UofA who go to Crosswell_

Your fists start to clench. 

Soon all his other former classmates start chiming in too:  
_lucky guy_  
_fuck you Brad you faggot_  
_haha Nick :) your gay_

You start to ball up the bedsheets and the screen gets blurry. A silent scream tears out your larynx and you bite your bottom lip so hard you break the skin. The taste of metal is on the tip of your tongue. You choke out a sob. 

He has a girlfriend. It's been a few days of break and already he has found a _girlfriend_. 

You want to rage at her, shake her and shout at her and punch her right in that pretty face because she dare look upon his perfect features, you want to hit that pale cheek _he_ had placed his beautiful lips on, you want to shove her away and take him by the back of the neck and kiss him you want to you want to- 

Another sob escapes your lungs and you crumple down. 

You're nothing to him. 

Outside that shaded room where the bed's unmade and the desk's incomparably messy, children's laughter wafts softly up with the gentle breeze as they play in the driveways. The sun shines bright as a few birds fly through the air, their bodies mere specks of brown high above the urban neighborhood. A little sparrow alights on a tree branch hanging past the darkened room's window. It gives a little tweet and then takes off again into the blue sky, searching restlessly for its next meal. 

But for the boy lying on the bed in that darkened room, shoulders slightly shaking and tears dripping slowly one by one down onto the bed covers, the world has suddenly become a monotone grey. 


End file.
